


A Commander's Contempt

by misofirebird



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misofirebird/pseuds/misofirebird
Summary: You had only hatred for him, that Mandalorian. His victory against Moff Gideon inspired vengeance, but not everything goes as planned...
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yet another multi-chapter I'm doing. Auty-ren had helped inspire me to do this one after reading all of her stories and what not. She's here on this site as well as tumblr. Feel free to poke around, and let me know what's up! Otherwise, enjoy!

“MH-92,” 

Your lips peeled back to reveal clenched teeth. Bared into a feral snarl. You had almost made it too, if the captain hadn’t seen you. The unit of plain clothes troopers you commanded had frozen at the sign of a higher rank. They were nearly close to entering the drop-ship. 

Heavy footsteps were heard behind you as your grip on the blaster grew fierce. Not that you were keen on shooting your superior like an animal, it was the situation itself that prompted tense fury. 

“I said, MH-92. Did your stupidity make you forget to address your captain, Commander?” 

Slowly, while slightly shaking with anger, your body turned to face the collected higher rank as you both stood in the hanger of the Light Cruiser. The ship itself quiet in the space close to the desert planet of Tatooine. They didn’t want to get any closer in fear of being attacked from orbit. 

It was like a sign from the gods. A perfect plan of unrelenting vengeance. However, the captain had to be a spoilsport and ruin it by reciting regulation and consequences. You absolutely HATED him for it; almost as much as the true object of your contempt. 

“Yes, Captain?” you replied with a sneer. Clearly overstepping your boundaries with the attitude in your voice. He _almost_ rolled his eyes in the face of your inappropriate behavior. Being on the bridge at this moment was more favorable to him; still, he cleared his throat. 

“This is the third time today I caught you trying to sneak off the ship. Sloppiness of efficient stealth and insubordination aside, it’s a waste of resources to have an _entire_ unit pursue a mission so self-serving,” 

“Capturing and torturing an enemy of the Empire is _not_ self-serving! That scum barbarian deserves much more than what my imagination allows! Moff Gideon was a great pillar of strength to the Empire!” 

“And now he’s a liability. If he hadn’t been so careless, he’d still continue to be everything you envisioned him. Let it go; we’re not here for some old bounty hunter,” 

He was right. The original mission here was to scout the planet’s populace for any rebel alliance intelligence. This particular planet had been home to famous rebel pilot who single-handedly destroyed the Death Star…twice. Anyone possessing a brain would at least know the significance to those rabble of animals. Still, you thirsted for blood. 

But instead of arguing more about it, your face slackened into a mute, neutral expression. Seemingly over the ordeal completely. 

“Fine. I suppose some outdated barbarian scum isn’t worth the Empire's attention. I’ll retire for the evening,” 

“Good. Because next time I catch you, it’ll be a week in the brig. Is that understood?” 

You didn’t acknowledge the consequence and turned your back on him. You barked an order to your unit, and they immediately straightened up before walking in tight formation to leave the hanger. Together with them, your party left. The captain stayed behind with an unconvinced look. Just before the hanger bay doors closed, he spied your head leaning towards one of the troopers; looking as though you were whispering something in their ear. 

Maybe he should let you run wild. Get the thrill of vengeance out of your system to focus. You were too wound up over killing some Mandalorian instead of mapping out the area for reconnaissance. Helping set up units of plain clothes to fool the enemy. But truthfully, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into, if he did so. You had never heard of a Mandalorian until the news of Moff Gideon reached the territories of the Outer Rim. The captain had, however. And he was very against performing revenge on a member of an elite warrior race at the moment. If only the captain’s little sister shared the same sentiment. 

Still…maybe if he let you go, maybe you would get discouraged. Maybe he would scare you off. But maybe…he would also slaughter you. 

* * *

Your footsteps, and those of your unit remained in-pace, methodical and quiet. An hour after the captain had retired to his sleeping quarters, one of the troopers apart of your unit spread the word. They pretended to make their rounds or made excuses to leave their post. Together, they slowly came in formation with you at the helm. The expression on your face furrowed and frowning with determination. You’d leave the ship for a few hours, go down to the planet, find the barbarian, bring him back and torture him to death. You imagined all the blood he’d shed in the interrogation room. Born from the vicious beatings you’d give him. The thought of it staining your uniform. The metal helmet, your future trophy, being painted with it. A sigh had left your lips at the fantasy of the carnage with his body used as the centerpiece. 

The hanger bay door opened and your group immediately went for the drop ship. This time being careful to avoid anyone you recognized from earlier. One-by-one, you all entered the ship. You and your second-in-command seated yourselves at the controls with haste to strap in and start up the ship. The engine hummed loudly with the controls blinking rapidly. 

“Shuttle 3487 to bridge. This is MH-117. Requesting clearance for leave,” Your co-pilot had droned. You would let him do the talking since your captain had made the entire ship known about your reprimand. 

“Bridge to Shuttle 3487, what is the nature of your request?” 

“Orders for a scouting party to observe any rebel alliance activity,” 

“On whose authority?” 

“By Captain BB-10,” 

There was a pause for a moment, as you heard something brushing against the mike on the other end. You were tense in your chair as everyone waited. The only hope that kept you from sweating, was the hesitation of disturbing the captain in his quarters. Unless they were being bombarded, nobody was allowed to interrupt what few precious hours of sleep he managed to get. His second-in-command, was more liberal and oblivious. What the captain saw in him had been beyond you. Your second-in-command was efficient, calculating and gave you useful second opinions. 

Sure enough, the voice heard previously came back with nothing sounding amiss. The next thing you saw was coming from outside the Lambda-class T-4a. The shielding for the mouth of the port had dissipated as the nearly blue barrier had revealed the star-lit vastness of space. Workers in the bay wisely stepped out of the way to make a path for your party’s departure. A cruel smile spread across your face at the turn of good fortune. That barbarian who dared to taint Moff Gideon’s honor is now a step closer to a slow death. MH-117 flipped several switches and you braced yourself before pulling down the thrusters. Victory would be yours.

* * *

_Two Hours Later..._

You hated the sand here. It was rough against your skin. The course minerals were ruining both the exterior and interior of your blaster. The worst characteristic of the climate that housed this infuriating material made it get everywhere no matter what you did. Grainy pieces rubbed uncomfortably against your feet. Despite having boots, some of the stuff managed to sneak in. You and your men who were dressed in mercenary garb instead of traditional plastoid armor and a commander’s uniform shared the same transgressions. He had better be here, or else you would slake your lust for death on the shoddy settlement of Mos Pelgo. This is where all the persuasion, bribing and threatening had gotten you. From what you concluded, there was talk of a man in shining armor traveling here from time-to-time. Apparently seeking out the town’s Marshal for work. Why he frequented this middle of nowhere instead of going to some other decent planet had been beyond you, but it was in your favor. Under the moonlight, the small settlement’s lights had glowed gaily. 

Turning your head to MH-117 before stepping into what was the local dive, you made a signal to have him go in first with a few others to make the encounter seem casual. He and three other men in your unit of ten stepped in the establishment first. After fifteen minutes, two more went inside. Then four after two minutes. And when ten minutes had passed, you decided to finally make your entrance. 

Casually going past the threshold, the smell of death sticks and spotchka hit your senses in full force. The backwater skug-hole of a bar attracted almost the entire populace of the town as their voices conversed in elation and energy. Inside it was packed with people and aliens alike who merrily drank, smoked and chatted away their worries. Completely unaware of the unlucky spectacle they would soon witness. One such patron was a man with a full head of greying hair and a bright red long sleeve. He seated himself at the counter with a decanter of spotchka while talking with the bartender. His blaster tucked away in his worn, leather holster for all the world to see. The man looked relaxed, but his posture was more upright than the rest of the riff-raff. He held himself with dignity. Could he be the Marshal? There was only one way to find out the truth. 

You relaxed your features, and looked around the scene like you were curious before placing yourself on the bar stool. The man didn’t take notice until the barkeep saw you taking in everything and lightly tapping your hands on the counter. 

“What’ll it be, traveler?” 

“Oh! Ummm...what he’s having, I guess,” you replied innocently while pointing the blue liquid. The alien raised a brow and looked at the man who he’d been conversing with; showing the exact same bewilderment. Nevertheless, he bent down to find the drink of choice. You turned your head again as if to mind your business, and that’s when the man two stools down from you decided to engage. 

“That’s a mighty strong drink there, miss. You sure you got the stomach for it?” 

You hear him and turn your head, flashing those doe eyes and all. 

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to find out,”

He shook his head and laughed as he came to the conclusion of how naïve you were. 

“Listen, a pretty thing like you ain’t gonna last long takin’ a sip; much less a cup. My friend here’s got plenty of stuff more your speed,” 

“And what speed is that?” 

“The easy kind,” 

You imitated the average air-headed female by using your gloved hand to cover hold a giggle. Seemingly interested in the banter. He appeared to like the signals you were sending his way, and went over to sit on the bar stool next to you. The man ran a hand through his hair with a toothy grin while his other grabbed his cup. He apparently had a mind to engage in sweet-talking you into something more intimate. 

The barkeep had the spotchka in hand, but the man had waved it off, asking for something else you never heard of, and put his attention back to you. The worker huffing out a grunt as he felt inconvenienced by the patron, but obeyed. Meanwhile, you continued to feign innocence and worked him over to get the suspect talking. 

“I hope it isn’t too easy, Mr....-” 

“Cobb Vanth. And I’ll bet you a hundred credits it’ll be _exactly_ the drink you’re looking for,” 

“Really? That’s a very bold assumption. Is that what you do all day? Gauge people and their drink preferences?” 

At this, the man laughed; like he heard a funny joke. He thought you took him to be a steady barfly. That’s when he let you have it. 

“No actually. That’s just one of my many talents. I’m this town’s Marshal. Been that way for a while; though I didn’t really go through any formal officiating. More like, er...trial by fire-or fire fight. Whichever you prefer,” 

“A Marshal?” You repeated with interest. Letting one of your hands dip back into your cloak. Making sure the blaster you had buckled on your side was still within reach. All the while, you leaned a little closer to make it seem like the occupation was an attractive trait. “You must have some stories to tell,” 

He felt like he was itching to get lucky tonight and took another swig of his drink. “I have a couple under my belt as a matter of fact. If a pretty thing like you has the time,” 

“I may have a moment or two to spare,” 

So, you stayed perfectly still in your seat as the Marshal tried impressing you with his adventures involving this middle-of-nowhere town. Eventually, the barkeep came back with your drink. Some light pink beverage that was surprisingly to your taste. He may have been a clueless idiot, but he was right. Plus, it was perfect for you to take small sips while he kept guzzling away the spotchka. Dulling his senses and slowly starting to slur his words. You were fortunate that he wasn’t the handsy type, or else he’d be missing the appendages. You didn’t notice how much time passed between the talk of being stranded in the desert and making peace with the savage Sand People. It wasn’t until you realized his decanter was empty, that it was later than anticipated. And while he was conscious, he was a lot more relaxed. 

“So...that’s why I’ve been looking to expand...expand this...” 

“Town?” 

“Right. No more Krayt dragon here to eat the banthas and townsfolk. Anyway, I think its gettin' pretty late. Maybe I should walk you to the inn you’re stayin’ at,” he boldly suggested while getting himself off the bar stool. He was a little unsteady, but he managed to stay on his feet. Meanwhile you quickly scanned the bar and saw your unit hiding in plain sight. Pretending to be enjoying themselves. Mimicking the energy of the bar. Even using some of the patrons as a form of camouflage. 

“Oh, but I can’t leave now...I’d _really love to listen to one more_ story. You tell them so well...” you cooed while batting your eyes. An action that caught his attention in a heartbeat. He shoddily leaned his elbow against the counter. The barkeep had shaken his head and resumed cleaning up. By now, most of the customers left. Only a few who could afford the time to drink the night away and your men on standby were still occupying the space. 

“Hmmm...I think I got one more in me,” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah its-...give me a minute, sweetheart,” 

“No wait! Don’t tell me! It’s the uhhh...” 

Suddenly, the Marshal was finding himself staring at the barrel end of a blaster. He may have been drunk, but the man had enough sense to see that innocent mask on your face drop to reveal a neutral, almost droid-like expression as you rose from your seat. It was too late for him to try angling for his weapon. Though even if he tried, he heard several people rise behind him with their weapons drawn. One glance at the now tense barkeep was all he needed to know. 

“It's the one where you tell me where that barbaric, womp rat Mandalorian is hiding,” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly and shake his head. 

“Just my luck. I find a pretty girl, and she’s only interested in a guy who’s face nobody sees,” 

You pistol whipped him for the wrong answer. Smacking him hard enough to leave an angry red bruise on the left side of his face. 

“Focus, hillbilly,” you said evenly as the barrel tapped briefly against his nose. Honestly for him, if the situation wasn’t dire, the idea of being threatened by a woman slightly shorter than himself was quite silly. 

“I know you’re not THAT drunk. Now, the Mandalorian, where is he?” 

“Pardon me Miss... but uh, I ain’t no squealer,” 

You were annoyed that this backwards peasant wasn’t as forthcoming as you’d like him to be. So, to vent some frustration, you gut punched him in the stomach. He grunted as the blow almost caused him to the lose all the spotchka he swallowed down. His body attempted to crumble and fall, but you pulled him to smack against the counter; cornering him with your form. That’s when you realized the cloak was still on you. 

“It's evident I’m not making myself clear...” you said discarding the outer garment to reveal your uniform. Taking out your field badge with the imperial insignia from your cargo pants and hooking it on your waistband. “As an extension of the Empire, I don’t tolerate someone interfering with my duty. And that duty is finding the Mandalorian so I can bring him to Justice...” 

The half full cup was still on the counter, and you grabbed it to finish it off. Taking one big swig before setting it down politely. “As much of a good guesser you are, I’m going to burn down this entire shack with your tortured corpse inside and do the same thing to the rest of the town. So, are you certain about sacrificing this glorified hovel for a filthy vagrant?” 

This time he looked sterner at the idea of the magnitude of bloodshed and destruction. However, he wrestled long and hard with his conscious, and found that he just couldn’t bring himself to give the man up. The silent response was more than frustrating to you, and your hand traveled up to his neck. Giving it a nice, painful squeeze. Making him cough and sputter. 

“Fine. I don’t mind working harder tonight,” 

Your grip tightened slowly around his jugular as you watched him struggle furiously to breathe. You didn’t plan on him dying immediately because you wanted to get some enjoyment after coming such a long way. Although, eventually you would have to return back empty-handed. The disappointing reality would be not having your clothes sullied by the barbaric, Mandalorian blood while rubbing the victory in your captain’s face. But ultimately, it was to restore the great Moff’s honor. And even though he was in New Republic custody, he deserved nothing less than- 

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots walking across wood caught your ears. The grip you had on him stopped squeezing, but remained stuck to the Marshal’s neck as you turned yours to the door. A few of your men had also focused on the sound, and shifted their focus. Stopping at the threshold of the bar, was a quiet, but menacing being. He wore a metal breastplate, vambraces, pauldrons and calf guards that caught the glow of the bar and moonlight. His armor weave cloak worn down at the bottom suggested how much travelling he’d done. Though it was difficult to read his features since he wore a helmet over it. In fact, no part of his body was exposed to the air despite how hot it must get in the desert. 

A silence stole over the bar as everyone studied the newcomer. The pieces fell into place, and you realized that this was the individual you were looking for. All at once, your blood rushed in elation. The excitement of hope not being abandoned nearly made you shake. 

“MH-117,” 

Your second-in-command came over with his blaster ready. 

“Watch the hillbilly. Shoot him if he tries anything,” you said plainly and loud enough for the stranger to hear. Your grip finally loosened so the Marshal could breathe, but actual relief was nowhere to be found as he still had a blaster in his face. Meanwhile, You and the Mandalorian savage stared back at each other, as you stood all but a few feet away. His hand hovered over the weapon he had at his hip. Smart choice considering the other weapon, a spear, was attached to his back. It would be too far away of a reach in comparison. However, if all went well, this would be a bloodless encounter. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Mandalorian,” you spoke. There was a tinge of excitement in your voice. He said nothing in return, so you continued. “One would think it would be smart to spend the rest of your life in some hole after what you did to Moff Gideon,” 

At the mention of his name, there was no reaction. No awkward stifling of his breath. There wasn’t even a startled reaction. The Mandalorian didn’t feel any semblance of remorse towards the beloved former ISB officer. You did not like his lack of response, so you strolled slowly over to the Marshal. You glanced at the bounty hunter wordlessly while putting a hand to the man’s jaw. He grunted uncomfortably, but made no move to defend himself. 

“But you didn’t, and your idiotic friend was this close to paying the price. Well, I can still take him with me to my interrogation room and turn that slow brain into jelly; it's all up to you,” 

Suggestive as that sounded, you think he’d take it literally like you meant. Strapping the Marshal to a chair and sucking out whatever minuscule intelligence he had. You had recently discovered remnants of what had been called a ‘ravager’. It had once been able to function under its own power, but the damage to it was so severe, that it hadn’t been able to work unless integrated with the torture chair. No-one was able to understand it beyond the desired purpose to mass produce the device. The process itself took a lot of the ship’s energy, which is why you used it for the most difficult of cases. However, exceptions can always be made. 

Your eyes briefly fluttered closed in thought of him suffering. Hearing those screams bouncing off metallic walls. When they opened again, you turned your head to the enemy and dropped the Marshal’s face. 

“So what will you do, barbarian? Give yourself to me and come along without incident? Or will I have to mindfuck the peasant sheriff?” 

Again, there was silence. A moment passed, and you wondered if he was deaf, but his hand by the blaster suddenly lowered by his side; signaling his surrender. Immediately, two of your men behind you rushed forward with their weapons raised, while a third handed you a pair of shackles. 

You looked at him, and then the shackles. They were in perfect condition, and he was willing to be your ward. Something was wrong. This was way too easy for you given what he did to the great Moff Gideon. A seed of doubt taking root in your heart. Maybe there was something he had hidden up his sleeve. 

“Search him. Have his weapons confiscated,” 

The third plain clothes trooper immediately began to frisk the silent Mandalorian. Quickly starting off by taking the spear. It clanged to the floor with a strange sound ringing in your ears. Durasteel? Chromium? Agrinium? You couldn’t place it no matter how hard you tried. The design of it was so simple; not like most of the flashy weapons you’ve encountered over your life. 

Next was the blaster. A simple IB-94 blaster pistol model that was worn from the environment and use. He seemed to hold an attachment to his weapons. 

Then there was a sword with no blade. The hilt looked...strange. Why he had a broken weapon in his cache was beyond you, but it might possibly have some value. It would be treated like everything else. 

Then came a vibroblade in the holster attached to his boot. It was a simple design with its edges well-polished and sharpened. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t made up your mind to do a search. Hm, he must’ve been counting on that knife. 

After a few more times of frisking, the man had nodded at you with a grunt as a sign that he was clean. The Mandalorian still said nothing; even while being accosted. The Marshal surely would’ve made some pointless quip about the situation that related to a scenario neither of you wouldn’t realistically be in. Why did that bother you? It somehow bothered you. The only other person you knew who never garnered a reaction like this was your broth-captain. What if it was the captain? No, it was just your fraying nerves and his obvious lack of basic speech. Maybe he and the Marshal could only communicate with a language they both understood. Nevertheless, language barriers weren’t going to be an obstacle where he was going. 

You came forward and eagerly cuffed the shackles on his wrists. Staring right at his visor as you did. 

“Smart choice, barbarian. Your hillbilly friend gets to suck in oxygen for another day; not that you can understand me,” you said while raising your blaster to his face and using it to gesture to the outside. “Now move,”

* * *

After shedding him of his equipment, you and your unit led the Mandalorian back to the drop ship. Every step of the way through the troublesome sand, your eyes bored into him. While mysterious, he certainly looked less menacing than you were led to believe. The few tales that you did hear about him sounded too outlandish for you to deem as fact. Taking on an entire bounty hunter guild? Conquering a prison ship? Liberating a town from a local warlord? That last one almost made you laugh. 

But what if it was true? 

No, it couldn’t. Moff Gideon must’ve gotten taken by surprise. 

That’s what you decided as you studied his form. Admittingly, your gaze lingered on him for longer than you realized. Wondering just how strong those calf muscles were. You started to regret not doing the body cavity search yourself. Although, you’d have plenty of time with him in the interrogation room. 

When the party finally reached the ship, you made the Mandalorian go in first; all the way close to the front. You followed after, and then came MH-117 before the rest of the unit. 

Since this was your mission, you got the pleasure of seating yourself right across from him. Still keeping your eyes intently focused on the vagrant. Everyone else went into position; starting up the ship and closing the ramp as it prepared for departure. 

And that’s when you heard him for the first time. 

The noise he made had been filtered through his coder, but it came out as an unmistakable low chuckle. Nothing light-hearted or miserable; but a dark one that sent a shiver down your spine. Still, you tried to gain control of the situation. 

“What’s so amusing, barbarian?” you asked with the blaster aimed right at his face. 

He promptly ignored you and you thought you heard a small, high pitched whine. The Mandalorian was probably picking up on your self-doubt and attempting to feed into your fears. He’s making you hear things that aren’t really there. It was starting to piss you off. 

You got up from your seat to berate the vagrant. Not wanting him to enjoy even a second under your thumb. You were close enough to pull the middle of his binders forward to get him out of his seat. The plain clothes trooper was confused by the sudden action. 

“Listen, you filthy animal: Even if you can’t understand me, I don’t-” 

Suddenly, he overtook you. Using his arms to loop you by the waist and push you roughly against his chest. The action too fast for you to follow, and ended up smacking your face against his armor-plated torso. Impacting on the metal made you drop your blaster, and he promptly kicked it away. Your equilibrium was thrown off from banging your head and being swung around with his sudden movements. The other troopers immediately stood up with their own weapons drawn, but he showed them your back and they instantly hesitated. Then came the whistling. 

At first, you thought he had made the noise, but in actuality, it originated from his wrist. The noise bounced off the walls, that were followed by pained yelling that lasted only moments from behind you. But before you were able to do anything, the morbid curiosity forced your head to look up at the sinister bounty hunter. Even with a covered face, you could tell how intensely he stared back. 

“Sweet dreams, pretty girl,” 

“What-“ 

**BAM!!!**


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi again! Wow, I actually posted a second chapter; my brain is finally listening to me! Now to actually update those other wips. Enjoy this chapter otherwise! And as always, I got a tumblr; look me up with this username!

You felt a terrible ache pounding from your forehead and jaw. That was the first thing you remember before your eyes slowly fluttered open. There was a lingering, coppery taste of blood on your tongue, and you wondered how hard he hit your face. Strangely, you didn’t feel any tingling pain on the side of it associated with a punch. It was even swelling up, but no feeling of outward bruising. 

Every limb ached as they tried to move. Stiffness and pain shot through your system every time something so much as twitched. All you could do was crawl on your belly while struggling to understand the situation. There was a struggle...an unexpected retaliation from the barbaric  Mandalorian . You weren’t able to see anything else because the bastard blocked your vision and head-butted you with his helmet. You suspected he had done a lot more and left you...which was odd. Naturally if the roles were reversed, he’d immediately get a blaster bolt to the head.

Speaking of which, where was he? Where was your unit?

From feeling the floor, you were still in the drop ship. The ramp was open as the night still carried on. Everything was too dark and quiet. 

Thinking about the abnormally silent atmosphere made you force your body to climb up to the seat as a foothold to steady yourself. That’s when your hand smoothed over a leg...a very stiff leg. It startled the hell  outta you since you expected the seat to be empty. Trying to adjust to the darkness, your anxiety rises instantly as you realize this was once MH-0113. He died still clutching his weapon. You felt around his front for injuries, and brushed against a burnt hole in the center of his chest. Way too small for blaster bolts. Plus, he didn’t have a weapon on him that you knew of. That’s when you recalled the whistling sound.

“That filth,” you muttered with growing rage. It had been those vambraces he adorned. Had you been more perceptive instead of assuming he was completely disarmed, maybe your men would still be alive. You would not forgive the Mandalorian scum for this.

Grabbing the cycler rifle from MH-0113's now cold hands, you stumbled your way to the cockpit. Unfortunately going past the bodies of your fellow comrades along the way. MH-0056, MH-1000, MH-224; they were at least mercifully put down in a quick manner. However, you wouldn’t show the same courtesy. You were going to beat him within an inch of his life with the cycler rifle, and then kill him. Though at this point, you wondered if this would be the last thing you’d do.

Vengeance suddenly seemed way over your head now that your men had been killed. You wouldn’t be surprised if the captain shot you on sight after recklessly wasting resources for a doomed crusade. You weren’t even sure if he’d knew of your disappearance by now, or if there would be a scouting party on your whereabouts, but leaving the thought up to chance was a foolish decision. So, you made pressed forward; opening the sliding door to the cockpit. Revealing a staggering scene.

The three chairs in the front were all occupied. Two of them had MH-125 and unfortunately, MH-117. They were purposely swiveled forward to face you. MH-125 had a blaster wound where his heart was, but MH-117 had a fatal injury that you couldn’t place. A thin, burned line swiped upward on his chest.

And the third chair?

“You’re finally awake,”

That filtered voice seeping out of his coder came to infuriate you. Especially when the owner of that voice sat so casually in your seat. Even though the moonlight had put a dull shine on the armor, he still looked very intimidating. However, you forced yourself to keep a neutral expression.

“You killed my unit,  Mandalorian . I hope you know I won’t spare any mercy,” 

“I don’t expect any,”

At least he knows where you stand. 

But instead of rising from the chair like you thought, he continued to sit there. Holding a small object between his thumb and index finger. Rolling it around the two rather playfully. You had a difficult time making it out. 

“Get up from the command chair, scum. I don’t want your soon-to-be filthy carcass tainting it any further,” you stated robotically. Raising the weapon towards him and inching  forward . He still didn’t budge. Not even when you towered over him to butt the muzzle of the rifle against his helmet. Perhaps he was tired and wished to die by your hand. Or did he have something up his sleeve?

“Commanders are worth a considerable sum in the New Republic. That’s the only reason why you’re not a corpse laying on the ground,” he responded; not bothering to come up with any semblance of remorse. Even boldly declaring his hint of intentions.

You scoffed. The New Republic? That disorderly bunch of weak, emotional cowards? Even you recognized how odd it would be for a Mandalorian to be in a prim, soft environment like that; let alone be involved with any dealings with them. To think he acted like he could gain the upper hand anyway was very stupid. 

“I said get up. I don’t want your blood in my seat. It’ll look better in the refresher when I’m bathing in it,”

He didn’t, and you had enough of his  blatant disregard of authority. You squeezed the trigger on the cycler rifle aimed directly at his head.

The bolt flashing red pinged against his helmet, as it pushed his head back in the chair. Then it was over. A cruel smile started growing as the smoke lightly wisped off the spot where you shot hi-

“What in the name of the gods -“

And it dropped in the next moment.

You  practically choked on your words, as you  suddenly realized that instead of a  visible, charred hole  in his cranium, there were only scorch marks where the bolt  _ should’ve _ been. There wasn’t so much as a dent in his helmet, and  suddenly, a flood of memories came back to you. A particular snippet of when you trained in the imperial academy . When the captain wasn’t your captain, but a lieutenant , who implored you to study harder.

It was the time you sat alone reading books on armor integrity. About the different metals and crafting techniques. Mostly skimming through the book when your eyes only glanced at the word ‘ beskar '. A nearly indestructible metal that was difficult to forge without the proper blacksmiths. Blaster, shock-proof and was once touted to be immune to the old legend of the space sorcerers’ ‘laser swords’. It was the kind of information that you deemed useless since it had next to nothing else on the subject; like where it came from, or how it could be useful for spacecraft travel. And since it was rare, it's not like it could be mass produced to benefit the Empire. 

So, you could hardly believe the terrible gut feeling until you fired several more shots at him just to make sure. Unfortunately, they were all with same result. 

And if it wasn’t enough to try your sanity, the Mandalorian slowly raised his head back up like nothing happened. That’s when the full gravity of the situation hit you and turned the weapon on yourself. Terminating your life would be better than the thought of how a savage would treat you. However, you didn’t get the chance to pull back the trigger.

The barbaric  Mandalorian leaned forward and ripped the firearm from your grasp faster than your eyes followed. It startled you to a point that your trembled arms in growing fear. Thankfully, you still had your termination molar-

Wait a minute.

Your tongue desperately felt the back of your teeth and realized there was nothing but mottled flesh where a modified tooth used to be. The painful swelling and taste of blood without any signs of being hit...how could you be so stupid not to figure it out?

And then your eyes fearfully trailed down to the tiny object being played with between his fingers. With closer inspection, the mystery object was in fact, in a distinct shape of a tooth. Just to add more insult to the injury, he dropped it and crushed your last chance of an out promptly under his heavy boot.

That’s when he rose from the chair; casting a darker shadow over you like the harbinger of death he was. Tossing the weapon he took from you aside, his other hand produced a pair of shackles. These were the same ones that had been put on him only hours ago. He must’ve been eager for you to endure the irony. Something you wanted to avoid at all costs.

The next few seconds felt like you were on auto-pilot when you immediately turned tail and ran. Trying your best to run past your fallen men without stepping on or tripping over them while you escaped. Never in your short life had you experienced such terror from a single humanoid. You had been thoroughly trained to deal with Rebel and Republic filth who at least showed an array of emotions that could be understood. They were passionate, loud, brash. Something you could destroy with order, isolation and manipulation. Things that were made to be broken. He was different: Colder, more calculating and patient than the usual foe. You didn’t care if you had to sweet-talk someone into getting you off this planet; it was light years better than the alternative. 

Wait, where were you?

Yes, you were still on the dustbowl of  Tatooine . But...this wasn’t where the ship had been parked before. MH-117 had made the wise decision of suggesting the underside of a cliff to avoid easy detection and thieving  jawas . But this place, the opening of the ramp revealed an ominous path leading to the gods know where. The path’s ground had you ankle-deep in sand with the walls of red, brown rock. Where the darkened trail led to was a mystery you were hesitant to find out about, but it was either that or-

_ Thunk _ _... _ _ thunk _ _... _ _ thunk _ _... _

At the sound of those heavy boots making noise in the ship behind you, the decision to go forward became a lot more appealing. He was deliberately slow; like he anticipated how easy of a target you’d be. It was an offense that made a deep anger burn inside you, but your cowardice prevented you from fighting back. 

You struggled to run across the sand with all the power born from adrenaline.  Stepping through the stuff felt like wading ankle-deep in water. 

Maybe going down the dark passage that snaked to some place that would probably kill you. There was an odd intuition that it led into a labyrinth. Somehow, that idea appealed to you in the name of self-preservation. Get so lost, that you wouldn’t even find yourself...or at least he wouldn’t.

Each breath you took burned with your lungs screaming. Every few feet, your head would occasionally bang against rock or sandstone from blindly moving forward. But you weren't  gonna rest or slow down; not while that menace lurked around. Even if you could barely see anything in front of you, it was at least comforting that he was in the same position. Not unless he had night vision gear or found yours; and you doubt he figured out navigating the ship  _ that  _ quickly.

That aside, everything was still too quiet. No late-night croaking or chirping of any kind. Even if this was the middle of nowhere, there had to be at least one animal breaking the uncomfortable silence. It was bothersome that the only sounds came from your own frantic breathing.  Maybe it was only in this area. The spot he’d chosen specifically to torture you. Understanding this added onto the paranoia that squeezed your chest. 

It was thoughts like that, that nearly got you killed.

Seemingly out of thin air, something whizzed just below your throat in front of you and embedded into the wall. You swore your heart would’ve leaped out of your mouth if it hadn’t been attached. And it couldn’t stop pounding so  feverently from the brush with death. Yes, you had no problems with killing yourself just moments ago, but it was on your terms and a lot quicker. Whatever you were almost hit with would’ve made death too slow and painful. Choking on air and blood in an unhurried pace was never pleasant. But back to the matter at hand of what almost impaled you.

Reaching carefully out, your gloved touch felt the metal end of a pole. You instantly recognized the object as the strange spear the Mandalorian savage carried. Which meant that he was near. Meaning that he was doing what had been suggested in the back of your head: Fucking with you for the thrill of it. Something inside reasoned that it had something to do with beating that hillbilly Marshal at Mos  Pelgos . Though a small part of you wondered if it was because he expected you to do something with that knowledge. Especially when he ripped out your termination molar (an action that you hated him more for) and barred you from taking a blaster bolt to the face.

However, the uncertainty cleared up the moment a glowing black blade suddenly materialized in front of you and the spear. Partially illuminating the wall, the spear and the  Mandalorian’s form. Wait...that hilt. So , it had been a weapon after all;  just  one that you couldn’t recognize. It looked like a sword coated in energy. Although that would be ridiculous since the energy output needed to do that would be enormous. Not to mention the metal would be instantly melted. And there was no metal stemming from the hilt in the first place. A sword made from pure energy? How would that be  possi -

Suddenly, the memory of MH-117's injury flashed briefly in your brain. The thin line of burnt flesh slashed across his chest. Yet another bitter reminder of your second-in-command lost forever.

“This belonged to  Moff Gideon once,” he said as-a-matter-of-factly.  Holding it out as if to show off.  “He didn’t know how to use it properly,” 

Though you’re sure with that statement, he did it just to get a rise out of you. He purposely wanted to provoke you into pulling out to the spear so you can rail him with it. Maybe you should if you can get away with it. Maybe you can and come back with some face to save. You can certainly take on this uncultured barbarian, kill him and re-claim  Moff Gideon’s energy sword. Even if you’ve never trained with anything other than blasters before.

Thus, giving into the temptation felt justified.

Your eager hand reached out for the pole of the spear to pull it out of the earth. It was unfortunately a more difficult feat to do than you estimated. With the barbarian watching the failed attempt, your feelings of embarrassment doubled. 

He must’ve felt the same way, because after the third attempt of failing, he unceremoniously kicked you in the chest to send you tumbling on the ground. The force of it knocking the wind out of you before hitting the sand. He retracted the strange energy sword that left you in the dark trying to pull yourself together. The inexperience of dealing with combatants in the dark left you full of confusion, but still vigilant for any sounds of movement. However, it felt useless since there wasn’t any other noise made than the slight shifting of your legs in the sand. Thus, it was bad fortune when you felt your hands being roughly seized together before the heavy sensation of  durasteel cuffs restrained your wrists. 

“Let go of me, savage!” you spat venomously as he then unceremoniously picked you up and then slung you over his shoulder before taking out the spear with minimal effort. Being handled casually like a bag of goods didn’t sit well with the sting of defeat and humiliation in your chest, so you tried to pound against his spine. Unknowingly beating your fists against a back plate of  beskar . The result was as expected; fists full of pain and instant regret. You wanted to kick him to at least sate your anger, but the end result would be less effective since he took ahold of your thigh. It was too close to the curve of your ass with his thick fingers curling over your flesh. Even with the cargo pants you could feel him. It was something that the more you stopped to think about, the less you struggled against him.  But you could simply be exhausted. 

All the while, the Mandalorian himself felt strangely satisfied. That initial drive to kill him earlier in the evening had gotten his blood running. Although your survival skills proved to be dismal, his spark of excitement and the trap he baited them with had earned him an imperial ship and supplies in good condition. He never expected more remnants from the empire to come looking for him; much less attempt to hold Cobb Vanth hostage. But from the moment he stepped into the bar filled with chaos, it had been a stroke of much needed luck. You were just the perk to be traded in for fuel credits when he handed you over to the New Republic Marshal on Nevarro. Still, it was a disappointment seeing your pitiful performance. Maybe if you tried using the blaster on him more creatively instead of giving up and attempting to exterminate yourself with it, the scenario might’ve gone a little differently. It was thoughts like this that had made his grip tighter around the back of your thigh while balancing you on his shoulder. Unknowingly sending a tingling pleasure through you; flushing your face red and choking on a bothered moan. A high-pitched, feminine-like sound paused his trek to the ship. You immediately stilled in realization of what came out of you, but recovered quickly enough to distract him with a complaint.

“D-Damn you, Mandalorian! Don’t you know how to treat someone with some dignity?! I’m not some...TOY you can just play around with!”

You forced every ounce of hatred into the rhetorical question. Praying to the gods that he didn’t understand the reaction for what it  _ really _ was. That piece of barbaric trash doesn’t need to know about any buttons he could press; this situation was already demeaning enough. 

After half a minute of stillness, he FINALLY carried on without acknowledging your gripe. Continuing to be silent; although, with a small inkling of a new thought entering his mind…

* * *

You felt achy and stiff waking up the next morning. The vile Mandalorian made no qualms about cuffing you to one of the pipes in the corner of the ship. Being forced to sleep sitting up with your arms practically feeling numb. Not to mention the aches you sustained from the scuffle. The night was cold and you anticipated his lack of courtesy in at least offering you something cover yourself with. Well, the only thing that resembled common courtesy were the removal of all the bodies on the ship. When you had wearily opened your eyes, it was discovered that the corpses no longer littered the seats and floor. Thinking about how they were wasted in a simple trap instead of dying for a more worthy cause sickened you. 

Where was that bastard, anyway?

As if thoughts alone could summon him, the mechanical noise of the ramp suddenly filled your ears and you strained turn your head to see it drop. Revealing the animal himself and the backwater Marshal in the forefront of the rising  Tatooine binary suns. Fantastic.

Upon noticing you, there was already a small grin forming on his face. It was more teasing than arrogant, but it still humiliated you nonetheless. So you returned the gesture with a bitter scowl.

“Well I’ll be,” he started up while walking up the ramp. Briefly going down to squat to your level. The  Mandalorian silently followed. “Kinda of a shame it didn’t work out last night. Even if you are an imp, I’m never impartial to giving a lady a good time,”

“You’re not even good enough to breathe the same air as me, hillbilly,”

“Right...I suppose that’s why you’re here on a desert planet.  Breathin ’ all the good stuff,”

The Marshal had you stamped on your insult with a comeback that you were unable to respond to. But instead of driving home the obvious, he chuckled and shook his head before standing up. Turning to do a quick scan of the ship before talking with the barbarian. Swiping his thumb across his lower lip in thought.

“ Welp , you weren’t lying about the ship. But I think you’re gonna have a tough time with it. Most people here aren’t gonna give you close to what it’s worth. Not to mention the blasters and gear. Hell, you’d have an easier time selling it scuffed, because this kind of  beaut ’ is a little too rich for a planet like this. Maybe if the  Hutts were still around-”

“DON’T!”

The both of them looked back to you and observed a very furious expression. You would’ve lunged at them if the cuffs weren’t holding you back.

“Don’t even try it! This is **_ my _ ** ship,  Mandalorian ! I’ll slit your throat while you sleep and then raze the buyer’s place to the  ** dust ** !”

Your bristled threat really took the Marshal back, but the barbarian remained calm as usual. Full knowing how impossible it would be to make good on such a grisly promise. In fact, he stared right at you when he replied to Cobb  Vanth :

“That’s fine. I know someone who might be interested; just in case,”

You wanted to spit at his feet in defiance. Doing so though would dirty the floor of  _ your _ ship, and he would find your self-destructive behavior amusing.

“You can keep the blasters,  Vanth . I don’t need the extra scrap metal weighing me down,”

* * *

  


After the Mos Pelgo Marshal left with a few townsfolk, hauling away the cache of standard issued blaster rifles and pistols, the bastard savage ignored the murderous glare while sitting down in your chair in the cockpit. Originally, he was going to negotiate a selling price for them in Mos Espa, but dwelling on the idea of getting a rise from you proved to be too burdensome of a temptation. And he was right. Just watching you explode, threaten and seethe had been one of the most entertaining things he’d witness. You got so angry while they walked away with your things. As much as you wanted to rip out their throats with your teeth, being stopped by the cuffs linked around the pipe took away that ability. The only thing you could do, was yell and boil until it fizzled into a dull pain. It had been that way from the time the hillbilly Marshal left to now, traveling across the vast desert with the Mandalorian at the controls. At least he knew how to handle a simple drop ship.

Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gloved hands smoothly ran over the small switches just above him in ease. Or how he knew how much force to put into the levers for the thrusters. You wondered for a moment of he had formerly been  a part of the Empire once. Although, that would be utterly ridiculous. Nobody within their sanity would betray an organization so adept at keeping structure, order and civility to proper systems. He could’ve merely spent part of his lifetime studying, adapting…just watching every single movement.

For a second, your mind drifted into a very strange place: Those leather gloved fingers tracing down your heated skin. Touching every sensitive place that would wring a soft desperate noise from you. A noise that would constantly echo off the walls of-

“This is  Djarin to  Alkhara’s Tower. Respond,”

His coded voice gratefully interrupted your deluded fantasy , and you quickly  hit your head against the pipe in response. Letting the pain vibrate from your skull to the rest of your body. 

What kind of weakling were you?! It hadn’t been a full fourth-eight hours, and you were already falling for him like a weak damsel! He must be some sort of expert charmer, because half of the stars in the galaxy would blink out of existence before you allowed yourself to be willingly enamored by a stranger who slaughtered your ENTIRE unit! You were supposed to be festering in hatred!

That said , you weren’t able to muster up the same anger from  before; and it didn’t annoy you enough .

“This is  Alkhara’s Tower, what is the nature of your arrival?”

“Business,”

“...copy that. Proceed,”

Even before he finished his transmission, you saw the two structures that rose from the endless sea of bleak yellow sand. One was a rounder, more flatter shape while the other was thinner easily exceeded the other in height. They both looked old and could use many cosmetic improvements.

You thought that’s where the shuttle would be taken, but then it entered a crevice that turned into a dark tunnel, leading to an enormous metal gate. The drop ship stood idle for a moment before a sound of the heavy metal squeaking away could be heard. It ‘lightly' reverberated from the outside, to the inside of the craft. Although, it went doubly for you because of the cuffs and pipe being attached to you. It was an unpleasant sensation that made your teeth chatter, forcing your body to half curl up to brace itself until the fucking things fully opened. You didn’t want to put up with his indignant treatment any longer.

You  promptly stood to protest the inhumane imprisonment, but then  the ship suddenly moved toward and knocked you  back on your ass.  Feeling it  collide with the floor made it sting all the way to the deepest circles of hell.  Moff Gideon  must’ve endured the same scrutiny all the way to the New Republic.  Just imagining your fate  locked in a cell with your brain being prodded yielded many ideas to desperately get out of these bonds.  Maybe you'd end up chewing your  hands off if the situation became desperate, but  ANYTHING to not end up a prisoner!

And as your mind kept turning, the drop ship entered a vast hanger with many other vessels; many of which easily dwarfed the one you both rode in on. They were all neatly lined up in rows, and you began to suspect with all the different types: This was the collection or port of some local warlord. You had seen many before while on missions. They did nothing to impress you. There were a few times where temptations of bribes had been shamelessly flaunted in your face. Not only was it illogical to get away with one, but your view on imperial based designs were biased, for good reason. Nothing else in the galaxy had been superior than the technology of the Empire.

_ …except for  _ _ beskar _ _. _

A flicker of hate stirred up briefly as a traitorous thought had dared to take a foothold in your mind. It lasted seconds maybe, but it was filthy and demented like brothels stormtroopers flock to on shore leave. You didn’t like the growing patterns presenting themselves. If things kept up, you were sure you’d be begging that barbaric Mandalorian to fuck you _with_ the binders on.

Thank the gods however, when the ship eventually parked, so you could focus on berating the savage for your mistreatment. From your point of view, you saw him unbuckle from his seat and grab his spear. Then, he reached for a shiny,  beskar jetpack in the co-pilot's chair and attach it on his back. And when he finished, the Mandalorian strode over to you with the device you used to deactivate the cuffs. Wisely, he made sure to box you in first. 

As he came closer, you instantly shot up on guard. Already planning ways to  maneuver around him to escape. 

There was a pause as his head slightly tilted downward to observe your hands. Clearly there was nothing in them, and the only oddity present were the reddened imprints around your wrists from having them restrained by the  durasteel .

“I’m going to release you, and you’re going to stay still when I re-cuff you. Understand?” 

“...Fine,”

You held your wrists up as he held the small remote closer and pressed the little button with his thumb. There was a clicking sound, and the restraints came off. True to your word, you didn’t move; even as they fell to the ground with a clang. He stared at your now neutral features with suspicion while you massaged your slightly bruised wrists. The Mandalorian knew he the second he took his gaze off you, that you’d attempt to make a break for it. Although, you insisted that the effort would be futile.

“I don’t have anywhere to run to,” you  stated with a small gesture.

“Then pick up the cuffs,”

“No,”

There was an unmistakable sound of a haggard grunt slipping past his coder. He could’ve easily pulled his blaster out and threatened you to obey him, but some strange intrigue in seeing how you’d behave while he did it himself. So the bounty hunter, while keeping his visor trained on you, bent down slowly to retrieve the cuffs. Stretching his hand out for the pair. 

But as he was about the touch the metal, your boot came down on his hand with every intention of breaking it. And while the bones in his fingers were still intact, he wasn’t immune to the pain that came from the force of impact. It traveled right up his arm and spread throughout his body.

With him temporarily distracted, you used one hand to push down on his helmet as the other reached for his holster. Unfortunately for you, his free hand was on the same side as yours, so he immediately seized your forearm and yanked you down. 

Try as you could, there was no stopping your back from hitting the  plastoid seats before plopping onto the floor in audible agony. You had instinctively tensed the back muscles from letting every fiber of your being feel the fallout while scrambling to your feet. Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough, and the distinct feeling of a blaster pistol muzzle was roughly jabbed into your rib cage. You had only been halfway upright when he finally drew his weapon. For what felt like a long time, the two of you stared at each other for an inkling of a next move. Only you though, were the one who sustained the worst of the scuffle. 

“Get the cuffs,”

“No,”

He didn’t indulge this time and simply pressed his blaster harder into your chest. It was an arrangement difficult to resist. Begrudgingly, you stood up to-

“Not that way,” he stopped you with another butt of the muzzle. “Reach over. Slowly,”

Your lips curled into an indecent snarl. He wanted to make sure you would experience every second of the injuries you sustained by having you in this position; you were certain of it. Especially when you had to arch your back to outstretch your arm past his legs for the irritable restraints. And once you get them and toss them in his lap, the savage immediately seizes your jaw and pulls your face close towards his visor. Your neck strained from the feeling of your face still half swollen with affliction. It must’ve been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn his thumb was gently rubbing against the skin of your jaw.

“Next time, try harder,”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! I hope things are going well! Please enjoy this next chapter, and you wanna talk about whatever, post it here or on my Tumblr page!

Getting off the ship ached with every step you took. The pain from your injuries started from your rear that radiated all the way between your shoulders. Your face still half swollen from having your detonation molar ripped out. Not to mention, the durasteel cuffs fastened around your wrists.

But even with that, you remained dignified. Your chin held up high like the distinguished rank you were. If you were going to be a (temporary) prisoner, then it would be one who remained openly defiant of your savage oppressor. Even if he pulled you around roughly by your forearm, you’d still respond to him back with sneers and heated retorts. With that said, finding a way from him was next to impossible at the moment.

The hanger they were in had been filled with beings who only spoke Huttese. You knew it from your missions, and had been on the middle of learning the language. If any of them realized that you lacked the tongue to properly communicate, you’d easily turn into another prisoner. If only these scum bothered to learn basic speak. If this were a place of civility, the next best thing you could’ve done was get away from the Djarin Mandalorian barbarian, find a ship and get off planet. This place however crawled with many defensive criminals.

As you two made your way through the expansive place, you saw people making repairs to ships, or bargaining, or off-loading a variety of things. It almost felt similar to a secretive bazaar rather than someone’s private loading bay of ships. Although the strangest thing that graced your eyes were figures of the sand people casually observing wares of blaster rifles. It was odd considering that in the few times you saw them, plus all the curriculum they taught in at the academy, they were anything but negotiable.

You must’ve been too interested at the sight, because you suddenly felt a rough tug on your arm to continue forward. The Mandalorian's hold briefly squeezed you, and surprised yelp unexpectedly came out of you.

“Move,” he grunted as he made you resume walking. Something that you didn’t enjoy him doing to you. A pretentious scoff came out of your mouth.

“You don’t need to be such an animal, barbarian,” you replied with a toss of your head. “You’re just fortunate I’m not in peak condition. Otherwise, I would’ve been on my ship with your body in broken pieces,”

He said nothing in response to the retort and simply continued to drag you through the hanger. Every rude comment you made never seemed to faze him; although, perhaps he was too thick in the head to understand. Maybe if-

Suddenly, your eyes caught sight of a small knife in its holster attached to the pants of some passerby. Probably a smuggler or some common thief, but the thing dangled so loosely, that _anyone_ could just take it. Briefly, your shifty gaze went to the filthy captor. He didn’t appear to give any notice. Perfect.

In an instant, you jerk from his hold like your body had been pulled, and fall sideways. Right on the other filthy scumbag who unknowingly walked alongside you. Both of you end up hitting the hard ground. The Mandalorian had momentarily lost his grip; giving you an ample opportunity to swipe the knife and tuck it into your boot. Outwardly, you had this irritated look as if he greatly offended you by just existing. On the inside however, there was this sick feeling of elation. One that promised death to your oppressor and escape back to the Empire. So you played your part well.

“Disgusting scum!” you accused while scrambling away as best as you could. Kicking the alien roughly in the leg for added measure. “How dare you have the gall to touch ME?! I’m not some submissive whore-”

“Quiet,”

You felt your arm getting pulled up once more as the Mandalorian tried putting you back on your feet. The falsely accused in question began angrily shouting out you in Huttese. You didn’t make out any of it...except for the part about ‘skinning’ and ‘wearing’. Your oppressor stepped to quell the situation. Going so far as to handing him-wait a minute!

“Those are MY ration packets!”

“Yeah?” he said. Staring at you while giving him one more for good measure. “Not anymore,”

You didn’t want to take that lying down.

“How DARE you give that peasant something so valuable?!”

Those weren’t just any ration packets; they were ones that had been reserved for ranks of commanders or higher. Made with better quality, more savory food options and a longer shelf life. A luxury that had been a vice for your greed. Strangely enough, the captain would wake you earlier than usual, to allow you to get first dibs before anyone other upper rank on the ship when a new shipment came in. It was something that had you puzzled. Perhaps it was because you had done remarkable work as a plain clothes commander. So, seeing this vagrant be so generous with your things grated your nerves.

“Just remember: I’ll leave you with the next person you try pissing off,”

“You wouldn’t...”

Your ankle lightly ran up against the blade hidden away. You’d wish he try it. They wouldn’t know what hit them, and then you’d track him down to slice his throat. Just letting his blood free flow over his beskar armor and clothes. Hm, maybe you should try egging him on to make good on his threat.

However, you put on a scowl as you stared at his helmet. Acting as though it was a disgusting act of his barbarism.

“You’re right. It sounds like a terrible idea. Nobody wants to deal with an imperial,”

And then that scowl became legitimate.

“Damn you to hell, Mandalorian!”

He said nothing to retort the insult. Instead, he simply held you tighter against him. Having the back of your arm and part of your shoulder feeling the coolness of his breastplate. It was annoying how the metal actually relieved some of the pain from earlier.

* * *

The journey through this strange place was confusing. There were so many stairs and areas they passed through. It played with your sense of danger, for many of these rooms held different things. Some were people being tortured. A few held manuscripts and digital archives. Several were storage for weapons. One in particular was this...well there was this place that looked like a laboratory. As you simply passed by it, you swore there were remains of a crumpled, robotic spider with a brain in a glass case. The case was long since smashed open with the fluids already drained out.

Maybe it was just a trick of the darkness; making it look more sinister than it was. Whoever lived here was mentally unstable. But it shouldn’t be surprising that the criminal holding you captive would casually do business with someone so vile. You wondered what he planned on doing with said individual in a place like this. Selling your ship obviously, but such things could be done in the hanger with representatives. It stood to reason that he knew this being on a personal level. A thought that sickened you. Still, when you two descended down more stairs into a vast room holding a stone throne, it was to difficult to _not_ hold some kind of awe.

The space itself was all the same color of dull sand. But even with the lack of hues, the architecture was impressive. Worn, but still distinguishable in shape. Close to the ruler's chair, was this wrought, metal grate on the floor. Clearly, it served as a trap door to whatever deadly oblivion awaited an unlucky soul below. And as for the throne itself, it had been carved out like the rest of the place; with the exception of the decoration adorning the headrest. Made also from some strange metal were a set of runes. Clearly spelling out something, but you were unable to make it out. However, it was the person on the throne who pulled the surprise out of you.

“Fett,”

“Djarin. It’s been some time,”

You had a hard time containing the shock as there was yet _another_ Mandalorian sitting before them.

Just like your captor, he was completely covered. Dressed in clothes and armor; although, his was forest green with a strange-shaped skull on his pauldron. Additionally, this one looked bulkier and held more of an air of authority. But even with all of the regal intimidation on the planet, it just reinforced your mind on how unruly this race of people were. Speaking of, he let out this amused chuckle and rose from his stone carved chair.

“Quite sad to see the Mand'alor running around for scraps. But it looks like fortune is finally turning in your favor,”

“Hardly,”

The man was silent for a moment. You could feel his gaze bore into your appearance.

“Really?” he replied as he finally moved closer. Being near enough to where he could observe your appearance more carefully. Taking note of the visible, swollen face. When he reached out to touch your skin, you instantly recoiled back with a snarl. 

“Don’t touch me, filth!” you commanded, but to no avail. The back of your head clanged against your captor's beskar before being seized by curious fingers. They squeezed your face hard enough to bring back the pain. A whimper squeaked out of you.

“You should be careful to mind your manners, little girl. You’re in the presence of a king,”

“You don’t scare me, animal,”

“Is that so?” he mused rather playfully while looking up at his counterpart.

“I see your plight, Djarin. Although…I’m never impartial to someone with spirit. How much for the whore?”

Your face flushed red. How dare he demean you, An Imperial commander to that of some common prostitute?! Surely he wouldn’t let you be sold to this brute of a man?! He wouldn’t dare to-

“Five thousand credits,”

WHAT?!

“So low. That isn’t even enough for fuel these days,”

“True, but this one’s nearly more trouble than she’s worth,”

Your face was practically puckered by the man’s grip. And while he too covered his hands with gloves, the hold felt just as intimate as if he were bare skinned. It was overwhelming for you, and you hoped your captor seriously didn’t consider selling you off as a dirt cheap slut to some filthy warlord. Furthermore, you were at least worth more than pocket change!

“Is that right?” he asked rhetorically while running his gloved thumb across your bottom lip. “You enjoy being a brat?”

You opened your mouth, but before you could answer, his thumb invaded it. Running smoothly along your tongue. Going so far as the back of your throat to make you intentionally gag on him. Interrupting whatever snide comment you were going to make.

As much as you initially thought about biting the digit off, the sensation that suddenly manifested from his touch had halted your train of thought. The harsh taste of leather rubbing against your taste buds. Making your lips quiver while the flushing heat of embarrassment gave way to feelings of lust. It was disgusting of you to not feel ashamed from being touched so freely. Just like with that barbarian. As you tried tearing your face away, he forcefully kept his grip. Making you face his helmet.

“I knew a princess as troublesome as you. She ended up as a slave because she didn’t mind her proper manners,” he explained casually while slowly pumping his thumb in and out of your mouth. “Who knows where she is now. Probably getting fucked every which way. Getting passed around like some cheap trinket. She probably enjoys it now,”

He leaned his visor in close to your features as the atmosphere became serious. “So you would do well to behave. Unlike his Excellency, I wouldn’t be so merciful. I’d turn you into a mindless slut, imp, the second that cheeky mouth opens up to bitch about a single thing,”

The man finally released his grip and pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. The sudden action making you cough violently. Your nerves still on edge from the lingering feelings. That animal had the audacity to…to…to corrupt you like this!

And while your face was flushed and dangerously close to tear-stricken, you, by some saving grace, didn’t buckle at the knees. If he had made a reaction from seeing your distraught expression, he wasn’t able to show it. Fortunately, he put his attention back to your captor. The air of uneasiness going as quickly as it came.

“Well then, to business: The ship you brought. What kind of condition is it in?”

And so, as you were bound to one of the heavy slave rings just under below the throne by your cuffs, the two Mandalorians talked trade in Huttese. Any attempts to fully understand them failed miserably. So you watched with half interest as they gestured with their hands; speaking with precision so as not to create mistakes or assumptions.

At the same time, your mouth still watered from the lasting feeling of that other Mandalorian's touch. What’s worse, was the fact your face felt hot every second the reminder was there. You hoped he would slip and fall into some pit; maybe then there would be some justice done right for you in the galaxy. Realistically though, he looked too smart for something as ridiculous as that to happen.

Eventually, the two reached an agreement; and to your relief, didn’t suggest that you’d be apart of the trade. Your captor had pulled out the device for the cuffs.

“Fennec will make sure things go accordingly in the hanger,” he said while tapping on a screen of his vambrace.

The Mandalorian said nothing in response. Mostly because he was busy making sure you wouldn’t try anything funny when the cuffs came off. This time however, you were silent and without smart remarks. You even went as far to put the binders back on. Although, it was done with this hard gaze trained on the two.

You wanted to make sure you had their full attention. Expressing your displeasure of your captivity. Doing this all the while putting on the heavy latches of your restraints.

“Got something to say?” your oppressor asked in an amused manner.

“No,”

“Good. Hurry up,”

Instantly, you rose to your feet and walked over to him. Letting the hatred show on your face as you turned your back to stand at his side. Soon, you’d get your chance to kill him. The moment he’d let his guard down to rest, you’d come up from behind with a knife and end him. Then you’d come back here to cut off that other Mandalorian's thumbs before eviscerating him. Nobody makes a fool out of you and lives!

But for now, there had to be toleration for your torment; especially from that _other_ barbarian who couldn’t help but take one last jab at you.

“Its too bad Djarin's a decent trader,” he said while letting the back of his hand briefly caress the side of your face. “Otherwise I would’ve had you sitting down there, _permanently_ ,”

The hairs on the back of your neck bristled up at his surprisingly gentle touch, which only made you furious. Mainly because he laughed. It was one that told you that he knew what kind of emotions to wring out. Thank the gods he decided that the initial reward for your hand over was far more worth it.

* * *

After saying his goodbyes to the Fett Mandalorian, you and your barbarian warden went back the way you came. This time however, there was more urgency on your part. The last thing you wanted was for either party to change their mind concerning you.

Even when you both had reached the hanger, you seemed to be more interested finding this ‘Fennec' person than the savage was. Every which way your head turned frantically as if you knew what this person looked like. You were walking too fast for him, and he had to grab your forearm to stop. Forcing you to take a slower pace. It was bothersome how he simply manhandled you like a war prisoner…technically, the Empire ‘wasn’t’ engaged war with the filthy rebel scum. But the point remained that he had no qualms about treating you with harshness. Something that got your heart beating against your ribcage in heavy and near constant rhythms. 

Going through the hanger again back to the ship, you noticed a woman dressed in black by the shuttle’s loading ramp. She had a serious air about her with a modified blaster rifle slung over her shoulders. By her side, there was a speeder bike. Oh no...he didn’t.

“You idiot...” you started to say. “You traded a top condition drop ship for a shoddy speeder?! I should kill you right here!”

There was an attempt to turn around to scold him, but the Mandalorian stopped you to turn your line of sight back to the woman. A pang of anger cut your chest. It was like he went out of his way to purposely piss you off!

“You sure took your time, Mando,” said the woman, who stepped forward with a small bag in her hand. There was a soft clinking coming from it, and to your relief, had been the unmistakable sound of currency. So he hadn’t been completely stupid after all. Not that you liked the fact that he was selling what was rightfully yours in the first place. You’d still return here to confiscate it back.

“Had some trouble with the quarry,” he stated simply while walking past her. Pulling you up the ramp with him.

Inside the ship, he gathered a few of his belongings and put some of the ship’s supplies in a rucksack. He was silent through the affair while meticulously sorting out the necessities. Wisely (you begrudgingly admitted) he chose to bring ration packets, a field kit, some flares, blaster magazines and a light.

When he finished, the Mandalorian strode over and doing the bag over your shoulder. Apparently to him, you doubled as a servant who greatly enjoyed doing whatever he wished. However, all you could do in return is stare at him with displeasure. More so when he roughly tightened the strap running across your chest; pulling a grunt from you.

“Are you not capable of restraining your torment for just five minutes?”

“No,”

You toss your head.

“Of course. I forget whom I speak with,”

You think he will just brush it off like all the other insults you dumped on him, but this time, he's the one to seize your face and bring it close to his visor. His thumb firmly against your bottom lip.

An internal alarm was raised as it recognized the same hold that compromised your defensive, cold shell. Your nose flared while trying not to give into the temptation of gulping in air from your mouth. There was an attempt to pull away, but he got a hold of you by the strap.

With that said, he didn’t immediately force the appendage into your mouth. The Mandalorian stared back at your anxious face; looking as though it was a blaster that was pointed against it. He enjoyed seeing it not so haughty; it reminded him that he was keeping a woman in his party and not some harsh, unrelenting imp. Although, he couldn’t resist delving a little bit into the theatrics.

“Open your mouth,”

Though restrained, you manage to shake your head. He tightened his grip against your jaw while pushing his thumb harder into the flesh of your lip. This time, you pulled your head out of his hand by some miracle and immediately bowed it.

“NO, PLEASE! I-I'LL STOP!”

Sweat beaded your face as you forcefully took in air after your statement. To be humiliated twice like this…and now it would hang over you like an executioner's axe. What hurt more was the pathetic, pleading statement combined with a desperate, high-strung voice. Your captain would certainly reprimand you for allowing such a weakness to slip through. Where was he anyway? Did he write you off as a lost cause?

Suddenly, a gloved hand tucked a finger under your chin to raise it up. It was terrifying, but you allowed him to do so. Meeting close to his face again.

“Good. I won’t be so nice, next time,”

He let go of you and the strap, and you instantly backed away into one of the seats. It took a minute for your nerves to calm down again. Allowing for enough courage to look up at the heathen oppressor, who stood there watching you.

But after another minute passes, he comes closer again, keen in invading your personal space.

“Get up, we’re leaving,”

* * *

The both of you exit the shuttle where the woman and the speeder were waiting. The Mandalorian walked you towards her with him, because he had no intention of leaving you alone for even a second. There were plenty of chances to make yourself lost in the large space or take off with the shuttle. Maybe even try to kill him while he was distracted. And while you did have a knife hidden in your boot, he didn’t know that. It was a good opportunity to explain his paranoia was getting the best of him...if only he wasn’t right about it.

So as you made it to the warlord’s assistant, the Mandalorian had you in front of him as he took the credits.

“Tell Fett he has my gratitude,”

“As does he. Though, I don’t think this one does,” she gestured with the tilt of her head towards you. In response, your eyes flitted down with a bitter frown. Much how a child would do when they’re in trouble.

He took the money he was handed while thinking over the response. Opening the rucksack and putting the currency inside.

“She’s fuel credits,”

“Oh, a New Republic bounty...I remember the last time you had me in cuffs. Couldn't say I was too happy,”

“Noted,” he said before releasing the cuffs from your wrists. The Mandalorian then came back from behind you to pick them up. And before you could wonder what he was up to, the beast had dragged you towards the speeder and forced you to sit down with him from behind. That’s when you felt him grab both of your wrists to make them wrap around his waist...he couldn’t be serious.

“You look ridiculous, you know that right?” said the woman as the two of you were now squished together on the small speeder bike. The side of your face smushed against the back of his jetpack as your arms were forcibly cuffed around his hips. Overall ensuring the loss of dignity of your station. He sure didn’t seem to mind, however. But of course he wouldn’t; it wasn’t as if uncultured savages experienced any shame.

He didn’t dignify the question with a response, but simply started up the speeder. You’d only been on one of these contraptions twice, so it was easy to feel anxious; especially since you weren’t the one driving it. Even more so, your body instinctively clung to his as a measure to avoid falling off and being dragged by your imprisoned wrists.

Just then, the hanger doors started to slowly creak apart. Opening enough to where your party could easily exit through. Before he took off though, he said his goodbyes to the woman as you watched the short exchange. It made you feel almost sick from understanding the casual comradery between these two criminals, let alone everyone else he came in contact with today. The vile, disgusting savage had no boundaries with his desire to court lawlessness. You hated him for it, for this. How could such talent be utterly wasted on disorder and chaos?

You silently fumed about this while you buried your nose in his cloak. The material had been pushed to the side of his back to make room for the jetpack, but part of it covered enough of the device to where your face could come into contact with it. His smells of leather, blaster oil and natural musk were permeating from the fabric. The scents invading your senses made your eyelids and head heavy. What a disgusting waste of skills. You were surely going to kill him. Get your hands on his neck to hold him down while you carved a deep, fatal line across it. You imagine his pulse would thrum wildly under your hold. Just begging to leak out for your pleasure. Thinking about it made your heart race. And then…a sharp pain from your abdomen.

It wasn’t noticeable at first since your hips were pressed tight against his shapely ass, but then this painful heat started to slowly flare up. While not causing you any harm, it had begun to ache to the point where your cunt throbbed frustratingly.

The Mandalorian suddenly stiffened from the growing press of your meager weight and-

“Stay awake,” he said to snap you out of whatever kind of limbo you were in. That pissed you off, and you immediately shot your head up with a growl.

“How could I-“ you started to say, but then remembered the cruel torture he threatened you with moments earlier. Causing you to simply huff with a grouchy ‘Fine' that had been spiked with enough venom to kill a human man five times over.

Meanwhile, the woman watched the odd exchange with amusement.

“Fuel credits, huh?”

“...Goodbye Fennec,”

* * *

After a handful of hours you couldn’t keep track of on the speeder, the suns of Tatooine finally began to set when the Mandalorian stopped to rest for the night. There was a natural cave he discovered, and investigated it to see if it had been suitable enough for a temporary shelter. Since you were attached to him, you had no choice but to follow. It was even more bothersome when you both settled down to get sleep. He had the freedom to lay his back against the stone walls and cross his arms while sitting. Unlike you: Who couldn’t even lie down on the floor and curl into a ball. Still being restrained around his waist, there was no other option than to lean on his shoulder and hope some form of sleep would take you. The gods forbid you slept face-to-face straddled in his lap. It would be the death of you. At the very least, his cloak provided some warmth and he took off his space-wasting jetpack.

Again, the exotic scent wafted into your nostrils. You had to hypothesize that he must be using some sort of aphrodisiac as a fail-safe. How else could he hold your very thoughts hostage? No, you have to resist it! You couldn’t let yourself be enthralled by this trash.

As your brain furiously turned, your forehead rested on top of his pauldron. The rest of you followed suit to lean against the warm source of body heat. Before you could comprehend the situation, your eyes closed wearily in slumber. 


End file.
